Bran New Death (A Merry Muffin Mystery)

by Hamilton, Victoria

  It took longer than I thought, but we finally emerged from the woods and started across the weedy expanse. The heavy sound of a motor vibrating the ground startled me as we broke through the last line of trees; lo and behold, there was Gordy atop a tractor, hauling a piece of machinery that was mowing and piling the dry grass into neat rows. His buddy, Zeke, was standing to one side, watching, gesticulating, and yelling critiques. I stood stock-still at the awesome sight, just as, sweeping up the drive, came my rental car and behind it, Virgil Grace’s sheriff’s car. I almost dissolved into tears of gratitude.

  Sometimes your prayers are heard, I guess. It wasn’t until later that I found out the serendipitous arrival of the sheriff was owing to Shilo’s gypsy instincts. She just felt something was wrong—bad vibrations, she called it—so they stopped in Autumn Vale and, miracle of miracles, convinced Virgil to follow them to Wynter Castle. At that moment, though, I was just grateful for the “coincidence.”

  I dropped the damned rifle and helped Rusty over to the cop car. Virgil made him get in and sit while he called for medical backup. I babbled about Dinah in the woods unconscious, telling the sheriff about all she had confessed to, and Virgil assured me, as he called for his deputy, that they would be able to find our path, given that we had crashed through the brush with all the delicacy of a bull elephant.

  Finally I turned, looking toward my friends. Pish, darling man, held out his arms and I staggered wearily over to him; he folded me into a hug. I was about to exclaim that I needed to find poor Becket when the ginger cat strolled nonchalantly out of the woods and picked his way through the long grass, eyeing the giant tractor and mower. It was silent right then, while Gordy and Zeke gawked at all the action. It would be all over Autumn Vale by noon. McGill was on his way over to the fellows, and I hoped he cautioned them to keep their mouths shut until we figured out the whole mess.

  A half hour later, Rusty Turner had been taken to the hospital in Ridley Ridge, accompanied by his tearful daughter, Binny, who had screamed up to the castle in her van after hearing the news. She babbled to us that she had actually known/hoped/prayed he was alive for a few days, because he’d managed to get a note to her, asking her to meet him. That was the day she tootled off, leaving me in charge of the bakery. Unfortunately, terrified and stalked by a half-crazed Dinah, Rusty did not make the meeting. She was left frightened for her father, but not sure who to trust. In retrospect, if she had told Virgil about the note he could have taken care of everything, but Binny didn’t know what her father had done, at that point, and was afraid of setting the law on him.

  She had him back now, and I hoped everything would turn out all right.

  Shortly after the ambulance had taken Rusty and his daughter away, Virgil learned that his backup, on the way down the highway toward the castle, had found Dinah wandering along the road, blood streaming from a head wound. When they arrested her, she began to babble, despite Miranda warnings. She claimed that Rusty was the mastermind of a huge money-scam ring, using his company and Turner Wynter as giant sham companies with hundreds of offshoots. I got it then; Turner Wynter Global Enterprises, the name on the envelope I had found in my uncle’s desk, was one of the fake companies she was using.

  I had a feeling Isadore Openshaw would be involved somehow, but I didn’t know how yet. Pish, eyeing Virgil Grace with some interest, told him not to listen to Dinah, or at least, not to believe what she was saying. He had a lot of information that the sheriff was going to want to hear.

  We—Pish, McGill, Shilo and I—headed inside. To avoid repetition, Pish commanded that we wait for Virgil to join us. The sheriff had a lot to do before that, though, so—after giving me time to clean up, change, and have a cup of coffee—Pish wanted a tour. He was mesmerized by Wynter Castle. Finishing up in the grand entrance he slowly turned around, his fancy wingtips making no sound on the gorgeous, flagstone floor, as he stared up at the rose window, the gothic arched doorway and the magnificent, crystal chandelier, glittering dully in the morning light.

  “Who would ever guess that such . . . such Gothic splendor would be found in the backwoods of upstate?” he asked, his trembling voice echoing off the ceiling. He turned and clasped my hands in his. “Darling, you must keep this magnificent absurdity!”

  “I can’t afford to, Pish, dear. I really can’t!”

  He looked thoughtful. “All right. I’ll accept that . . . for now. But we’ll talk some more.”

  We finally returned to the kitchen, and Virgil Grace joined us ten minutes later, with a deputy accompanying him.

  “Merry, Shilo, McGill, Mr. Lincoln,” Virgil said, gathering us all in his gaze. “I understand you have information to give us concerning Ms. Hooper’s criminal financial activities in Autumn Vale.”

  “I do Sheriff, but I’m going to let my dear friend start,” Pish said, deferring to me.

  The deputy sat down behind Virgil to take notes.

  “I was suspicious of the dealings of Turner Construction and my uncle’s venture with the Turners, known as Turner Wynter,” I said, to preface Pish’s information. “None of it made sense. Binny Turner let me in to the Turner Construction offices and we looked around. I have some knowledge of development planning, and it was all wrong, everything I saw. Binny and Shilo found stuff in the accounts that didn’t add up. I can now tell you that Dinah Hooper was clearly using Turner and Turner Wynter to spin off shell companies, and using those shell companies to run some kind of financial scam. I told Pish, who is not only a financial adviser, but also has been used as an expert witness in court cases involving financial malfeasance, and he snooped around for me. He came here to tell me what he found out, but he wanted to wait for you, Sheriff, before he spoke, so I’m hearing this for the first time, too.”

  Pish gathered us all in his gaze, and said, “I didn’t realize when I set out this morning that I would be giving this information to the police. Let me work my way through it from the start. Merry called me with troubling questions about Turner Wynter Construction, Dinah Hooper, the Turners, and all of their dealings with Autumn Vale Community Bank. Here is what I think has been happening, and what we ought to do about it.”

  While dramatic in his day-to-day life, Pish eschews the use of italics in his speech while giving evidence or talking about his profession. He can be succinct, and gets to the point rapidly and clearly. The tale he told was riveting, and introduced me to the new word smurfing as it pertained to financial crimes.

  His take had a lot of facts, but involved some conjecture, too, relating to people other than Dinah Hooper. It took some convincing, but Virgil finally agreed to let Pish and me run a scam of our own on the bank employees, namely Isadore Openshaw and Simon Grover. We set it up to happen the very next morning, getting the confirmation late that night that federal investigators would be involved as well, since it looked like this was going to be part of a federal investigation of a con group that extended farther afield than just Autumn Vale.

  None of it would be possible without Pish’s help, but after a few phone calls, the feds knew that Pish was a reliable and competent aide who had done this kind of thing before.

  Virgil took me aside before he left. “I think I owe you an explanation about your uncle’s death.”

  “Dinah Hooper did it.”

  “Yes, but not with her own car,” he said. “I’ve known for some time that Isadore Openshaw’s car was the one that ran Mel off the road, but I knew she wasn’t the one who did it. I had a reliable eyewitness account that placed her at home that morning. Ms. Openshaw swore up and down that she didn’t know who could have stolen her car and brought it back.”

  “It was Dinah who had the car, then,” I filled in. “And Isadore was . . . maybe scared to tell the truth?”

  “That’s what we think. Tomorrow we’ll know more. I’m glad you’re okay, but I’m mad as hell at the chances you took,” he said gruffly, his hand on my shoulder. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  *

 
; IT WAS ABOUT A HALF HOUR AFTER THE BANK OPENED the next morning. Pish, Shilo, and I drove into town and parked on Abenaki. Dinah’s apartment door had a crime seal on it. I had heard (during a second, late-night call from a gruff and very sexy-sounding Virgil Grace, thanking me for our information and giving me confidential updates) that she had several impressive computer systems set up, ones that had been confiscated by the federal agents who were now swarming the town. What was on the computers would likely give forensic accountants many months of work to untangle. Dinah Hooper was a grifter extraordinaire, I had a feeling, and she had not been working alone.

  As we walked down Abenaki, I gave Pish the official tour of the town, such as it was. He noted all the empty storefronts and clucked his tongue. “This place has potential,” was all he said.

  Shilo took off to meet up with McGill, (who had indeed warned Zeke and Gordy, on pain of legal punishment, to keep their mouths shut until everything was sorted out) so Pish and I strolled into the Autumn Vale Community Bank together. I allowed Pish to take the lead. Isadore looked nervous at the sight of me and my briefcase-carrying, Brooks Brothers–wearing companion, but Simon Grover, in his glass office, appeared oblivious, drinking coffee and reading the only local paper, the Ridley Ridge Record. We approached the teller window, just as Gogi Grace entered through the curved, glass doors.

  Isadore tried a smile, but it looked ghastly, a rictus grin. “Ah, there is Mrs. Grace. You know, I had better look after her. Such a busy woman! How are you, Gogi?” she called out, straining to look over our shoulders. “How are you doing with that shocking book we’re reading in club?”

  Gogi ignored Isadore as she examined Pish and met my gaze, eyebrows raised. I had a sense that she might already know what was happening from her son. “I’ll wait, Isadore. You look after Merry and her companion, first.”

  Pish set his briefcase on the teller window ledge, opened it, and took out several bank records, and laid on top the envelope—now open—addressed to Turner Wynter Global Enterprises.

  Through the barred teller’s window I said, “Miss Openshaw, this is Pish Lincoln, my financial adviser. He has questions regarding my uncle’s accounts. As Melvyn Wynter’s heir, I give you permission to tell him anything and to fully answer any questions he may have about accounts involving my uncle’s company.”

  “I . . . I believe I already told you . . . I’m not sure—”

  “It’s quite all right, Miss Openshaw,” he said comfortably, with much the manner of a genial doctor. “I’m a trained professional. Now, looking through Merry’s uncle’s records, we came upon odd references to all kinds of bank accounts opened under different names, some variations of Turner Construction and Turner Wynter Construction and even Wynter Estates.”

  That was not quite true, beyond the one envelope with “Turner Wynter Global Enterprises” on it. We had done some guesswork, and Pish was an excellent bluffer. You do not want to play five-card stud with him, as many have discovered to their poverty. He may look like an effete art dealer, but he has a sharp and pliable mind, and a great poker face.

  Miss Openshaw stoically held her tongue. Hoping the wire I was wearing was not visible, I said, “I just want to know what is going on, Miss Openshaw.” I watched her face, over which an array of expressions, from fear to indecision, played. “I’m sure you’re aware that Dinah Hooper was arrested yesterday for murder and attempted murder. She’s been talking. A lot. Of course, being the kind of woman she is, she’s been trying to shift the blame onto others for things she has done.”

  That was all true. She was now trying to blame Isadore for everything, including my uncle’s murder. Isadore had been desperate to point me in the direction of Dinah, but didn’t have the guts to come right out and accuse her. I wanted to know why. “I keep thinking there is more to her staying in Autumn Vale, and her dealings with this bank and Turner Construction, than meets the eye. Do you have anything to say, or do we need to call in the feds and have them go over the bank records account by account, starting with anything labeled Turner or Wynter?” They were going to do that anyway, but she didn’t need to know that yet.

  She folded. I mean that literally; she actually crumbled, as in, sank beneath the counter, wailing incoherently.

  “Goodness. What’s this all about?” Gogi said with a glance at me. “I think it would be permissible for us to go behind the counter to help the poor woman,” she said.

  By the time Simon Grover clued in that his teller was distressed, and had bumbled out, loudly asking what was going on, we were all behind the desk, helping Isadore to her feet and over to a chair by a desk.

  “Why don’t you tell us what’s up, Miss Openshaw?” I asked, giving Gogi a look to keep her quiet.

  Gogi satisfied her need to do something by getting a glass of water and offering it to Isadore, who gulped greedily, then waved it away.

  “What’s going on here?” Grover blustered. “I’ll call the police. You people should not be behind . . . why, it’s trespassing!” He wailed on in the background, but no one paid any attention.

  “I want a lawyer,” Isadore said.

  Pish straightened. “All right. I was hoping there was a rational explanation exonerating you and the bank, but I guess I have no further business here.”

  “No, wait!” Isadore clutched at his sleeve, her gooseberry-green eyes wide with fear. “Are you really a financial adviser?”

  He nodded. I spoke up, as gently as I could, “Miss Openshaw, we aren’t trying to pin anything on you. But there is going to be an investigation into Dinah Hooper’s involvement with this bank, and what we suspect are a number of accounts opened to launder money, using Turner Construction and Turner Wynter, among many, many other shell companies, as vehicles. Dinah Hooper has admitted to me that she killed my uncle and Tom Turner. I believe she masterminded a lot more. Now, if you were to cooperate, I’m pretty sure you can help us find the truth.” I was careful not to promise anything legally, because that was not up to me.

  Isadore wept a bit, and again called Dinah names, including what I had thought she said was the “devil’s pawn,” but was apparently “devil’s spawn,” or child of Lucifer. She was convinced of that. She finally calmed enough to tell her story. She came to Autumn Vale about eight years before to live with a cousin (not a brother; she had only claimed the fellow was her brother so no one would think it scandalous that she lived with him) but when he died, leaving her his bungalow and car, she decided to stay. It sounded to me as if she had escaped a hardscrabble life, and finally had what she had always wanted: a home and a couple of jobs, one part-time at the bank, and one part-time doing bookkeeping and secretarial work for Turner Construction. Everything was good for a few years.

  But then her past, in the person of Dinah Hooper (not her real name, by the way) showed up. Dinah was a grifter, and had used Isadore before in an illegal enterprise. She was sent to torment her, Isadore said, spawn of Satan that she was. Isadore had escaped her clutches, determined to go straight and stay straight, but Dinah had finally tracked her down and threatened her with exposure if she didn’t go along with a scam. Autumn Vale was the perfect town for what she had in mind, Dinah told Isadore, and her job at the bank made it even more perfect.

  All Isadore had to do was first, quit her job at Turner so Dinah could have it. Coincidentally, the former bank teller was retiring about then, so Isadore was promoted to a full-time employee. Then she had to deposit the money Dinah gave her into Rusty’s bank accounts. Isadore did that, but of course the demands escalated until she was opening accounts for Dinah, using a dozen or so different shell company names, and making cash deposits to each account, small enough that the FDA would not be alerted to any impropriety. There is a threshold below which banks are not required to inform government agencies about deposits, and Dinah was careful to keep well below limits. That is called, in the banking industry, “smurfing,” as Pish had explained the night before.

  Isadore babbled about a lot of stuff. Dinah h
ad created a ghostly workforce to go along with these different shell companies, which allowed even more accounts to be opened. She was running another kind of scam, too, a version of the so-called 419 or Nigerian swindle, which was why she had the multitude of computers and the knowledge of high-speed Internet in Autumn Vale. I had a feeling we were going to find out a lot more over the next few days.

  As sometimes happens, I was right.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  THE NEXT DAY, observed by Becket, who sat like a statue on the flagstone terrace, I supervised Zeke and Gordy’s continued cleanup of the castle grounds. Binny’s white van roared up into my now-weed-free (thanks to Zeke!) parking area. The baker got out, carrying a box, and striding toward me. Had she come bearing cannoli?

  “How are you? How is your dad?”

  “He’s going to be awesome, thanks to you. I don’t think I really . . . in the craziness yesterday, I didn’t get what you did for him, you know, and how much I have to thank you for.” Her face, now adorned with a more open, natural expression, was very pretty. Her dark hair tied back, she looked relaxed and almost happy. I hoped she would accept all the changes that were about to come her way.

  “Don’t mention it. I’m relieved it all turned out okay. So he was hiding out since he disappeared last year because Dinah told him someone was out to kill him, right?”

  “Yeah. That note I got . . . it said to meet him at the hunting cabin on the Turner Construction land—it’s an old cabin back in the woods where he used to take me when I was a kid—but like I said, he never showed.”

  “You really didn’t see him until yesterday.”

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t even a hundred percent sure the note was from him. I just didn’t know!”

  “Look, do you want to come in for a cup of tea, or coffee?” I said, waving my hand toward the castle.

  “No, I’m on my way to the hospital to pick up my dad. They say he can go home now.”